Page 103 of Make Mine a Marquess

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Packing to leave for another country was a monumental task. Two full trunks and one newly delivered empty trunk crowded Phoebe’s bedchamber. The normally airy room with its cheery yellow painted walls and matching yellow drapes seemed dim and depressing, matching Phoebe’s mood. It had been a full week since she’d last seen Landon, a full week since his shocking proposal and his claim of love. A full week since Phoebe had a restful night’s sleep. Soon she’d be off to Scotland, a new life. A country without the Marquess of Landon.

Anne had been bustling in and out all day with armloads of day dresses, walking dresses, and gowns along with every accessory—stockings, shoes, slippers, brushes, combs, reticules, and jewelry. Phoebe had never realized how many material items she possessed.

Beatrice paid a visit on the third day of packing.

“Goodness, look at this chaos!” Beatrice’s eyes were wide as she scanned the room.

Having each gown spread out on Phoebe’s bed, then wrapped in tissue and packed away was eye-opening. She thought of the Society of Unwed Mothers. How many of these items could be put to better use? Her eyebrows knit together, and she bit her bottom lip. Once she left London for the wiles of Scotland, she would no longer be in a position to help the charity.

Beatrice picked up a rose-colored walking dress. “Must you go? I’m going to miss you terribly.”

“I’ll miss you more. Are you certain I can’t persuade you to come along?”

“To visit, yes. I’m not sure I’d like the weather. Scotland’s winters are frigid.”

“Is it just the weather?” Phoebe asked.

“What do you mean?” Beatrice asked.

“Are you staying for Mr. Adian?”

Beatrice huffed, then moved a blue gown to sit on the edge of the bed. “No. Definitely not.”

“Hmm. What happened since I last saw you? Did he come calling?”

Beatrice busied herself by folding the gown she’d pushed aside a moment ago. “He did. I refused his visit.”

“Please don’t refuse him because of what the marquess did to me. I’m still reeling from his visit.”

“He paid a visit?”

Phoebe blanched, then reached for a pair of silk stockings to fold. Without meeting Beatrice’s inquiring eyes, her fingers smoothed the silk. “My mother escorted him to the drawing room before I could have our butler turn him away at the door.”

Beatrice nearly bounced on the mattress. “You saw Landon! What did he have to say?”

Phoebe hesitated, her heart thumping in her chest. She remembered his dark eyes as he’d knelt on a knee before her and taken her hand in his much larger one. He’d surprised her by professing his love, then even more with his next question.

“He proposed,” Phoebe said.

Beatrice almost fell off the end of the bed. “What!?”

The words came out stiffly. “He asked me to become his marchioness. He claims he loves me.”

Beatrice pressed a hand to her chest. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Fortunately, I did. I told him no. How can I trust him? Truly trust him? He used me for revenge and lied to me in the worst way a man can lie to a woman.”

“I don’t know. It’s just shocking.” Beatrice looked at her closer. “He told you he loved you?”

“He did.”

At Beatrice’s silence, Phoebe tossed a pair of silk stockings on top of an open trunk. “You think I made a mistake.”

Beatrice shook her head. “No. I think you must trust yourself.”

Despite her efforts to remain strong, her voice cracked, and tears welled in her eyes. “It’s been a week since his visit, and I haven’t heard anything. He’s probably on to his next conquest.”